Remaining Bare
by Elagabalus
Summary: [AU. No magic. DH.] It's been two weeks since they've broken up, and he can't get him off his mind. Rated for language


**Remaining Bare**

By King

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

-

He hated himself for admitting it, but Draco wasn't over him yet. So of course it pissed the hell out of him when he saw that goddam idiot with that fucking Cedric Diggory with his goddam British accent. Harry with his goddam British accent. The two of them in the airport talking with their goddam British accents.

He picked up his briefcase and jostled his way through the crowd, in the opposite direction from where they were standing in the gate. He flipped his cellphone open, stabbed in his father's number and held it to his ear. He got the machine.

"Sorry, Dad, looks like I'm _not_ going to England and I'm _not_ going to take over the business. I've decided I want to be a hobo." He snapped the phone closed with almost enough force to knock the wires inside screwy.

He'd be mad as hell, but Draco was beyond caring by now. He hadn't wanted to go to England, anyway. But when his father offered the business trip to Draco as a last chance to show he was really serious about the family business, he had accepted readily simply to get out of New York for a while. Plus, he knew England was the _last_ place he'd find Harry.

Draco scowled and roughly shoved his way out of the airport entrance. He hailed a cab down and threw his briefcase inside. He told the driver his address curtly, slumping over in the backseat. The man sped away and Draco was left with nothing to listen to, the air absent of the furious murmuring of the airport's bustle, but his own thoughts.

Goddam Harry. He couldn't stop thinking about him. But he wasn't unfamiliar with this state of mind – he'd been stuck cold in it for more than a year. The first time he ever saw Harry, he was stark naked. Harry, not Draco, that is.

-

He had gotten fed up with all the crap his father was pushing on him and drove down to the college his friend, Theodore Nott, attended. Draco asked for his current class at the front desk and was amused to learn Theo had suddenly switched his major to fine arts. He seemed to have a new degree planned every two weeks. Draco fumbled around the Arts Department building until he spotted Theo sitting in a classroom where everyone was seated in front of canvases and stared raptly up at a model posed dramatically.

And there reclined a young man in all his birthday suit glory. His back arched and rested on a sort of fake rock, one leg on the dais and the other slightly bent and placed on an outcropping of the rock. His shoulders and head were flung back in midair, hands grasping a long black pole, one hand high and the other low. With his face slightly turned toward the door, Draco could tell he had extraordinary features.

His eyes were sort of hooded, as he was looking at the ground, so he couldn't tell what color they were. But his face looked thin and fresh, delicately sharp with a fine mouth. His hair burned deepest black in the sterility of the white classroom. Draco's eyes couldn't help but travel over the litheness of his body, both soft and hard. He stared at his pelvis jutting forward, knifelike, and the darkness feathered not far below.

Suddenly the professor ruptured the quiet, telling his students to pack up. They began putting away their sketches and canvases and generally clattered about. It seemed sacrilegious to Draco. The model leaned up, dropping the pole and picking up a robe left at his feet. He put it on and stretched, working the kinks out of his body.

Theo waved at him. Draco tore his eyes from the model and nodded at him. Theo ambled near and grinned.

"Hey, what do you think of this," he made a rectangle with his held up fingers, staring hard at them and sticking his tongue between his teeth, "Theodore Nott – The Artist."

"I think you're an idiot," Draco told him frankly.

Theo made a sort of crestfallen face. "Haaarsh."

Draco didn't buy it. "Really, why'd you change majors again?" The model was heading in their general direction.

Theo grinned and shrugged. "Some guy told me you got to ogle naked people."

"Is that really why you joined this class?" the model asked him suddenly, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. He had a British accent.

"Sure it is," Theo laughed.

The model put his hands behind his neck looked at him sideways. "I don't believe that. I've seen your sketches. They're pretty good."

"That's the thing about me," Theo said, looking solemn, "I'm good at everything I do, so I can't ever decide on one thing. Honest to God."

"That's depressing." He shook his head, his tousled hair tossed about. His eyes were green, and not just any green. A vibrant, dancing green more real than any other Draco had seen before. He thought the world had simply decided to copy this man's eyes when it grew grass or formed emeralds. Draco abruptly noticed a hand was being held out to him and something being said to him.

"What was that?"

The fine lips smiled. "I said, I'm Harry Potter."

Draco took the long, refined hand. "I'm Draco Malfoy." He had the sudden, irrational worry that he'd forgotten to brush his teeth this morning.

-

The cab jolted to a stop, jarring Draco from his thoughts. He gave the driver his fare and stepped out with his briefcase. He stared up the high rise building, the neat windows leering down at him like computerized beetles. Harry hated places like this. Draco scowled at himself.

To make a long story short, after seeing Harry in Theo's class they had somehow ended up on a date and later fucking each other silly. The next morning, he was gone, not a trace left. He asked Theo if Harry had come to his class again, but he said they'd suddenly switched models. Draco just figured he'd wanted a one-night stand, or he freaked when he realized how loaded he was. People did that sometimes.

Still, the week afterward Draco was a goddam wreck. At his father's business, he was paying even less attention than usual, which was saying something as most days he'd rather play paper basketball with a trashcan than listen in on meetings like he was supposed to. He found himself inspecting his mother's fashion magazines more times than he cared to admit, half-hoping he'd spot Harry in some trendy jacket or tight jeans or something. That week was hell for him – the days dragging him through a mire of confusion and the nights slapping him over and over with dreams of that night.

When said night and the others to follow began to flash, unwanted, before his eyes, Draco mentally thrashed himself and strode toward his apartment building. The doorman smiled congenially and held the sleek glass door open for him. The lobby was vast and very pristine, very clean. The employees all smiled at him and nodded with a "Good morning, Mister Malfoy."

He hated them all.

He jabbed at the elevator button and ran in, closing the door before anyone could follow him and try to make ingratiating small talk with the young man in the penthouse. They all just wanted to get into his very expensive pants. That's probably all Harry ever wanted. Draco felt his innards burn at the thought. He knew it wasn't true.

-

A week after first meeting Harry, Draco couldn't take it anymore and called up the Arts Department of the college Theo attended. He told them he was a freelance artist and wanted to know the number of the model he'd seen in Theo's class. He also mentioned the possibility of an anonymous, generous donation to the department. They gave him a name, address, and number happily. Honestly, some people'd sell their own mothers into slavery if they could make a buck.

After much consideration, Draco decided against calling him up and would 'conveniently' pass by the place. Right. Like he'd ever 'conveniently' be in Chelsea just for the hell of it. But he figured – screw it, he just wanted to see him again. So he took a cab instead of his limo and pulled up in front of a rather battered and crumbly apartment building. Draco figured he probably _was_ money-shy.

He then stood stock-still on the cracked sidewalk, realizing he couldn't very well go up to his apartment and knock on the door. That would mean admitting he'd asked for his address and number. Draco stood around outside for a few minutes, practically freezing his ass off, as he contemplated his own stupidity. Finally the door creaked open and a girl with bright orange hair came out with Harry. They stepped lightly down the decaying steps. Harry hailed a cab down.

"Thanks again, Harry. This'll get me in for sure." She patted a large portfolio and gave him a grin.

Harry spotted Draco. He blinked but answered the girl, "Yeah... Yeah, no problem."

"Well, come over some time and have dinner with us," she smiled and stood up on her toes to kiss his cheek. She noticed where Harry was staring. "Is that a friend?"

Draco strolled near casually, his presence acknowledged. Crap. Was that his girlfriend? He hadn't thought of this. Shit. Why the hell hadn't he told him he was straight, or bi, or whatever? Oh yeah. He'd been kinda sloshed.

"Sort of," Harry answered, glancing down at her.

The girl gave Draco a quick smile. She clambered into the cab with her portfolio, saying, "Well, bye Harry."

"Yeah, bye," he said, putting a hand on the cab door. "Good luck." He closed the door with a swift snap and the taxi whizzed away.

Harry stuck his hands in his pockets and studied Draco. The breath was freezing before his oh-so-lovely little lips. He wore only a pair of tatty, holey, paint splattered skinny jeans, a sun-bleached jean jacket, and a white, cotton long-sleeve shirt. God he was skinny. He looked like he survived on grass.

"What're you doing here?"

Draco tried to look offhand. "Just taking a walk."

"This far down? In this weather?" Harry looked incredulous.

He decided to throw caution to the f'ing cold winds. "Fine. I asked the college for your address."

Was Harry's face turning slightly red because of the cold or what he'd just said? Draco made a sort of shrugging motion with his shoulders.

Harry turned away, not meeting his eyes. "C'mon. It's cold as hell out here." He led the way into his apartment building. He unlocked the door to the stairs, taking them two at a time. The stairwell and halls smelled sort of musty, like his grandmother. Draco couldn't help but glance at the ass climbing above him.

"Don't stare at my ass," Harry muttered.

"You let plenty of other people stare," Draco answered, annoyed.

He received a dirty look for that. He opened the apartment number the college had given Draco, tossing his keys casually on a nearby table. The room was tiny, a living room cut off from a kitchen with half a wall. The living room held only a worn gray couch sitting on a rug, a bookcase filled with faded novels, and an old beaten boombox. A few pillows littered the floor and a portable heater hummed beneath the dim light spilling from the foggy, high window. The kitchen appeared orderly, though the appliances looked a trillion years old. Coffee perfumed the air.

Harry made a gesture toward the couch and Draco sat, watching him take down two mugs from a cabinet.

"How do you take your coffee?"

"Lots of cream, just a little sugar."

He pulled a container of one of those artificial creamers from his fridge and fixed Draco's coffee. He brought the two mugs into the living room, handing one to Draco. He noticed Harry drank his black. Sitting on the floor against the wall opposite the couch and arranging a few pillows behind his back, he turned his green eyes on him.

"So."

"So," Draco copied. Harry gave him an annoyed look.

"Why'd you come find me?" Draco was starting to very much like that British accent. Especially with his head flung back, yelling –

"I couldn't get you out of my goddam head."

Harry shrugged off his jacket. "I _think_ you're trying to say you wanted to see me again."

Draco felt his neck flush. "Look, was that your girlfriend out there?"

"No," he answered calmly, "that's a friend's sister. She's applying for an art school and wanted to get a few sketches of me to send in with her other stuff."

He probably did that a lot then, stand around naked with people inspecting every inch of him.

"Do you just model for artists?"

Harry nursed his coffee. "Yeah. It's pretty decent money."

Draco drank from his mug, scrambling for something to say. "Why'd you leave that morning?"

He looked embarrassed now. "I don't do that, you know. Really, I don't."

"What?"

He put his mug down on the floor and fiddled with the rug's fibers. "I mean, I don't go around screwing random guys. I don't..." He looked a little lost for words.

Draco smiled slyly behind the rim of his coffee. "You're not the one-night stand kind of guy. How surprising."

Harry looked pissed off. He stood up. "Look, if you're going to be an ass, you might as well get the hell out."

Draco held his hands up defensively. "Hey, calm down. It was just a joke."

"Just because everyone else you might've screwed was a whore, doesn't mean I am."

He was starting to get ticked off. "Not _everyone_ I have sex with is a whore."

"Oh, yeah?" Harry looked down at him, expression superior. "Let's look at the facts – you're rich as hell, so _of course_ everyone who takes an interest in you likes your _personality_. Which, by the way, I'm starting to suspect is pretty shitty."

_That_ stung. Draco scowled. "All right, so most people I sleep with are whores. But we're not talking about them, are we?" He was something else, all right. Most people just did whatever he said or didn't really give a damn about what he said.

Harry paused and sat back down reluctantly. He stared at Draco sullenly.

Draco sighed, wondering if it was even worth it. Harry was turning out a lot different from what he'd expected. He'd thought he'd just be the teasing, submissive type he liked to mess around with every now and then. But it sounded like the word 'no' had actually implanted itself into his vocabulary. Plus, it seemed he wouldn't be in to a sort of 'friends with benefits, benefits only, please' relationship. Draco didn't want to get really involved with someone who was going to be all up in arms, or involved at all. Period. Even so...

Harry fascinated him, as corny as it sounded. He was funny and easy to be around, when he wasn't all defensive, anyway. Plus, Draco had noticed Harry understood something few people did – the importance of silence. He usually judged his relationships by how easy you could _not_ talk to someone and still hang around with them. He hadn't found anyone who could be silent with him, communicate in the silence or not, like Harry could. And, he was just so godammed gorgeous. He could actually stand up to him, and Draco had to admit maybe that was what he needed.

"Look," he broke the silence, putting his mug down by his expensive shoes, "why don't we try this again? Let's go out sometime. Okay?"

Harry mused for a moment, his sharp eyes still on Draco. He looked particularly seductive sitting on the floor, leaning low against the wall and his legs spread just enough that you could see the crotch of his jeans. "All right."

-

_Ding!_

Draco came back to reality and walked out of the elevator, placing his briefcase on the floor before his door and getting his key out. He fumbled with the lock for a minute before shoving it open. He kicked his briefcase into the apartment.

He'd only been here for two weeks, and already he hated the sight of the place. It was very swanky indeed, with all its expensive furniture, it expensive view, and its expert, expensive design. He missed his and Harry's apartment. Draco had convinced him to move up to at least the Village, a bit classier, since he _could_ afford it. It had usually been cluttered, more from Draco's crap than Harry's as he could probably live with next to nothing and still be content. His new apartment sparkled with its hired housekeeper induced cleanliness. Draco despised it.

He flopped onto a sofa and stared out the bay windows. He wished it would rain or something. No – bad thought. Harry liked to get out in the rain and get soaked. So Draco wished instead the sun would spontaneously grow even more colossal, boiling the world to smithereens.

After that first date, the first _real_ one, there followed many others. Their relationship was sort of fumbly, trial by error; both were a little inexperienced in the whole 'keeping a relationship together' area. Harry would still get on his case every now and then, and Draco probably annoyed the snot of him, too. But he really liked spending time with Harry. Honest to God. He started wanting to make him as happy as he could. He could tell Harry anything and everything. He seemed to understand him on a basic level. Draco started wanting to know everything about him. As cheesy as it sounded, he'd fallen head over heels.

But Harry had still been sort of elusive at that point. He'd told Draco about being an orphan and growing up with his crappy relatives in England. He said he had moved to America last year, right after he had graduated from school. Draco had learned a lot about Harry, but there were some things he couldn't bring up without being brushed off.

Draco started becoming afraid he'd wake up one morning and again find the rumpled black hair and vivid green eyes absolutely gone. Harry had mentioned he was a wanderer. So Draco got a little possessive, getting mad with him whenever he canceled a date or talked about posing for some artist. This turned out to be a bad idea, as Harry backlashed at him, accusing him of being suffocating. Draco admitted his fears, and the other sort of crumbled, confessing, "Yeah, I love you, too."

They moved in together. They fought a lot; they'd acknowledged a long time before that that was inevitable. But Draco never really felt threatened in their relationship until he knew about Cedric.

-

The phone rang.

Draco groaned into Harry's shoulder, tightening his grip around the other's stomach. He smelled like last night's sweat and the cotton of their sheets. Harry tried to twist out of his embrace, but Draco just held on harder.

"Nooo..." he mumbled.

Harry gave him a swat. "Let go. The phone's ringing."

Draco looked up. Harry had shifted enough in his grip so that he could lean up on his elbows and glare down at him. The sun fingered his black locks, mixing in gold with the night with no stars.

"I heard," answered Draco sullenly. He rolled over until he laid right on top of Harry, burying his face into his stomach. "Ignore it."

"I can't. What if it's a job?" Harry still insisted on making his own money. He said he refused to be dependent on Draco's daddy's money. His parents didn't exactly disapprove of Harry; they just thought he was a phase. So they gave Draco the money for their apartment to keep him out of their hair. He often joked with Harry that he should be his 'kept man.'

He pushed Draco off, reaching over to the nightstand and plucking up the still ringing phone.

"Hello?" Harry paused, a surprised expression coming over his face. "How did you get this number? I mean –"

He sat up, swinging his feet over the side of the bed.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm great! How've you been?"

Draco ran a finger across Harry's bare back, feeling the velvet of it. He flapped away his hand.

"Really? Yeah, I'd like that..." Harry paused again. "Oh."

'Oh.' That was rarely a good sign. Draco propped himself up, moving to where he could see Harry's face. He was listening to the other person intently, his expression pensive. Harry glanced down at Draco suddenly. He got up and walked toward the door.

"Listen, Ced, I've –" The door clicked shut.

Draco frowned. He got out of bed and picked up a pair of boxers, shoving them on. He grabbed a white shirt and went out of the bedroom. Harry stood outside on the veranda, completely naked, of course. Honestly, the guy was too comfortable in his own skin sometimes. Being an artist's model did that, he guessed.

He opened up the sliding glass door and threw the shirt at Harry. He caught it, looked down at himself, and rolled his eyes at Draco. He pulled it over his head.

"So, you're okay then?" he said into the phone.

Draco sat down on one of their lounge chairs, picking up a pack of cigarettes and lighting one. He inhaled and looked up at Harry making a face at the smoke.

"All right. Yeah. We'll see you then. Good-bye." He turned the phone off. He fingered it, looking at Draco.

"Who was that?" he asked casually.

Harry bit his lip. "His name's Cedric Diggory. He was my first – well, everything."

Draco stared at him. "Well. Glad we cleared that up."

He shook his head. "Hold on a sec." He left, returning a minute later with The Box.

When they moved in together, Draco discovered he was not allowed under any circumstances, to touch one article of Harry's possessions. 'The Box,' as he had nicknamed it, was a battered, worn down photo box. Harry sat in the chair next to Draco's, opening it. Out spilled dozens and dozens of photos of Harry. Many of them where he was naked.

"I was maybe sixteen when I met Cedric. I needed cash, and he was a photographer, so I let him take pictures of me and do some composition sketches. Somehow along the way, we just fell in love. Or something like that. But, I don't know. I think I was a real brat then – I still am – and I just flipped out when he got really serious. He's a great guy, Cedric. He really is. Too good for me. So I left England and haven't really seen him since."

Draco stared at the photos in the box. It wasn't just that Harry was physically bare in a great deal of them – they were all so... _intimate_. He picked up two that particularly struck him. In the first one, Harry stood directly in front of the camera, his stance confrontational, utterly nude and with an erection. He held a female mannequin's head. '_Jokanaan and Salomé_' was written on the back in an unfamiliar handwriting. The second had a similar composition, except he stood in front of mirrors set at angles to one another. It was called '_Holofernes and Judith_.'¹

"I think he won an award for those two," Harry said, looking at them over Draco's shoulder.

"For what, being a pervert?" he muttered sourly. "How'd you get the boners? Weren't you sixteen?"

Harry straightened up, a little flushed. He said nothing, looking at Draco fiercely. "You don't get prosecuted in England for having sex with somebody after they're sixteen. Besides, he's an _artist_."

"That doesn't mean he can –"

"Don't start," Harry interrupted firmly. "I don't want to hear it. I can't help the fact that I've got a past. And you didn't see _me_ going off about those tapes. And those were just plain trashy."

Draco said nothing, knowing he'd lost. One day he had come home to find Harry watching his old sex tapes. He had simply said, "You've fucked some pretty bendy guys." And that was the last he'd heard of it. No yelling, nothing. Draco got rid of the tapes quickly

"All right," he grumbled, putting the photos down. "All right. All right."

Harry stood there for a minute longer before leaving the veranda again. Draco puffed on his cigarette sulkily. He lit another when it went out. Harry came back in a few minutes with the coffeepot and two mugs. He handed Draco the one with the creamer and sugar already in it. Harry poured the fresh coffee into his mug, the smell relaxing him a little.

"So," Draco began, watching as Harry poured his own mug. He still took it black. "So, this Diggory person, what's he calling you all of a sudden for?"

Harry glanced at him and sat down, cradling his cup. "He's flying in to New York next week. He said he'd like to see us."

"What for?" Draco demanded.

"To catch up," Harry said smoothly. "To be friends."

He mulled this over for a minute. "Wait, _us_? As in you and me? As in I'd actually have to meet this guy?"

Harry gave him a wry smile. "As in, would you rather I see him alone?"

"No," Draco said, more quickly and louder than he had intended.

Harry laughed. He stood up with his coffee. Leaning over, he pressed his lips to the place where his jawbone met his ear. "Don't worry, all right? He and I are done."

Draco leaned back, looking up at him. As much as he loved the completely naked Harry, he was liking the only-in-one-of-his-own-dress-shirts Harry. His hand snaked up his thigh. "And us?"

Harry put on a serious, contemplating expression. Which must have been difficult with a hand feeling up his ass. "Not so sure about us," he teased.

Draco took away Harry's coffee. "We'll see about that."

-

His stomach growled loudly. Draco pushed himself off the couch. He wandered around the kitchen covered in stainless steel and gleaming marble. He really hated this kitchen. Flinging open the fridge door, Draco discovered a wide array of food, from fruits and vegetables to meat and canned sodas. He closed the door in disgust. He wouldn't even _have_ any food if it weren't for the housekeeper, also paid to restock his food supplies.

When he lived with Harry, Draco always depended on him to do the groceries. And he always returned from the store with next to nothing – coffee, a loaf of bread, sandwich meat, cereal and soymilk. Spaghetti noodles if he were lucky. Harry never had a huge appetite and Draco tended to suffer for it if they didn't go out. He always bought soymilk because he said regular milk left a queer taste in his mouth. And he never went on a spiel at Draco about the health dangers of smoking – he just said it made the apartment stink. Harry was funny like that.

Draco shoved thoughts like that out of his head. He ignored his fridge and went to the coffeepot, pouring out a mug of the now lukewarm liquid. He decided to drink it black. He once asked Harry why he always had his coffee black and he said it reminded him of being naked. Draco cursed and poured the barely touched contents of his mug down the drain, flinging the ceramic cup into the sink with disgust.

Damn Diggory.

-

Draco scowled at himself in the mirror, determined to get his tie perfect. He unraveled the unseemly knot in frustration. Harry suddenly peered at his reflection, his head on Draco's shoulder.

"You look like you're going to a funeral."

Draco had on a crisp black shirt, the opal buttons polished richly, and spotless black slacks. The tie he was struggling with was pure silk and a mercurial gray he knew complimented his eyes.

"Maybe I am."

Harry gave his arm a good whack. "I'm going to take that as a corny Johnny Cash reference and not a threat on Cedric's life."

"Fine, fine," Draco grumbled, letting Harry fix his tie for him.

"You know, you don't have get this dressed up," he told him. Harry wore a screen tee, jeans, and a sports coat.

"I know," answered Draco as he grinned at his own reflection, "I just want to make sure I look better than him."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Don't be such a woman."

"I take offense to that!" Draco sniffed.

"Yeah, yeah," he grinned, grabbing his keys and wallet. "We better get going. We're gonna be late."

Draco sighed. "All right." He followed Harry out the door, resigning to himself to a night of quiet and helpless jealousy. Of course, Harry still insisted Diggory was just a 'friend' now, but he wasn't convinced. Draco highly doubted he'd been shagged senseless by Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley, or Hermione Granger, as... _lovely_ individuals as they were (he didn't exactly get on swimmingly with Harry's friends, but endured them for his sake). Well, the 'shagged senseless' part hadn't been said, but Draco wasn't stupid. He could figure things on his own.

They stood together outside in the dimming sunlight, the soggy heat retreating to the blows of a bitter night wind. They waved a cab down and clambered in, telling the driver the address of the little jazz club Harry had chosen. He liked the place for its strong coffee and one-woman entertainment – a little pianist who could belt out her bluesy jazz tunes with self-righteous anger to spare. Draco usually enjoyed it as much as Harry did, but he simply grumbled the entire taxi ride.

Harry gave him a look. "Stop pouting. It's ticking me off."

"I'm not fucking pouting," he snapped. "Who said I cared at all? Huh?"

"Cared about what?"

"Just – fuck, nothing! Okay!"

Harry put on an amused and slightly exasperated expression. He lifted Draco's arm around his own shoulders and slinked a hand around his waist. "I told you not worry, remember? I'm not gonna go running off with Cedric or anything. Honestly."

Draco was finding it hard to disagree with Harry's head against his chest and the smell of his shampoo intoxicating him. "It's _him_ I don't like."

"Ced's a great guy. You'll see."

'Great guy.' What the hell did that mean, anyway? Was he in the possession of some unknown attribute that entitled him to the respect and well-liking of every single sucker in the world? Goddammit. Draco began to weigh the consequences and benefits of simply punching the guy's lights out the moment he saw him. He decided against it; Harry's wrath would be far more terrible.

They pulled up in front of the club. They got out, giving the cabby his fare, and looked around. Draco watched as Harry's extraordinary green eyes skimmed over the pool of people spilling around them. He suddenly stood on his toes (Harry was kinda scrawny in all aspects – horizontal and vertical) and waved cheerily at someone.

Cedric Diggory was tall, extremely good looking, an artist, an apparent 'great guy,' and a boyfriend's worst nightmare. He and Harry had an awkward moment where Diggory looked as if he were about to hug him, but Harry seemed to be thinking about Draco's temper and offered a hand instead. Diggory took it, smiling uncertainly at them both. He'd been expecting the British guy to at least have horrible teeth – no such luck, of course.

"Draco, this is Cedric Diggory," Harry introduced. "Ced, this is Draco Malfoy."

They shook hands with a touch of mock friendliness.

"Let's go in," Harry said, indicating the entrance. They nodded and followed.

The lash of several fleet piano chords hit them on the way in, the customer's soft murmurs pillowing the raw thrashing the pianist gave through her voice. The waiters wove among the tables and padded chairs as if dancing to the tune of clinking mugs with the downy bellow of coffee aroma echoing mournfully overhead. They sat down and ordered drinks.

"So, really, Ced, how've you been? Well, how's everything been?" Harry asked eagerly.

"Oh, great," Diggory said, smiling over his teaming mug. His accent, like Harry's, was pronounced and pointedly British. "I think people are really starting to like my stuff."

"You're still photographing?"

"It's still my main media," he answered, "but now I've started on these sort of composition and design projects with some of the old mates."

"Dean Thomas? Oh, what about –" Harry spouted off a list of names unfamiliar to Draco.

Diggory laughed and nodded. The two began chatting avidly about their 'old mates' and unintentionally left Draco on the sidelines with their questions beginning with things like 'D'you remember...?' and answers with snatches of incomprehensible anecdotes.

"So, _Ced_," Draco inserted during a lull in the conversation, "what brings you to New York?"

Diggory gazed at him, warming his hands around a mug. "Some of my work is going to be in a show here soon."

"Really? That's great. You'll have to get us tickets." Harry leaned forward, smiling.

Diggory studied his hands for a moment. "They want to use _Holofernes_ and _Jokanaan_."

Harry looked surprised. "But, those are old as hell. They don't want your new stuff?"

"Yeah, but they especially want those two, as well."

Draco scowled. He did _not_ appreciate having to go to art galleries with Harry plastered across some canvas, stark-naked. He'd already had several such experiences already. People tended to stare when the artist's model stood right next to the work he'd posed for. Although Draco knew it was generally more of an artistic fascination, it didn't make it any less disturbing.

"You're still modeling, Harry? I've seen you in some works by other people."

Harry flushed suddenly. He fiddled with his half-full mug for a moment. "Yeah, but it's mostly colleges and institutes now."

The conversation withered for a moment. Diggory watched Harry for a while, his eyes roving over his face with an ambiguous expression. The pianist seemed to tire of her anger and switched to a fragile, melancholy song. Diggory flicked his gaze over to Draco.

"So, how long have you two been together, again?"

Harry sat up. "Almost a year now. We've been living together for about four months."

"Harry never told me how long _you two_ were together," Draco stated, looking at Diggory.

The handsome photographer looked surprised. "We were friends for a few months before we dated. And that was about two years, I guess."

"Did you ever live together?" Draco asked, his tone edging on aggressive.

"Draco," Harry said warningly.

Diggory didn't seem to hear his ex-lover. "For a little while, yes."

"A little while? How long's _a little while_?"

"Maybe a year or so, then."

"What happened then? What made it all fall apart?" He asked derisively, his tone mockingly concerned.

"_Draco_," Harry hissed. Cripes. He'd done it now.

"It just didn't work out," Diggory inserted smoothly. His mild eyes were a little sharper now.

Harry flushed, looking disconcerted. "Cedric..."

"No, Harry, it didn't work out; that happens."

He looked away. Draco was getting pissed again. Harry didn't act like this.

The remnants of the evening was spent in terse conversation between Harry and Diggory and silence from Draco. He was extremely relieved when they stood to leave, even though he knew he would be catching hell from Harry later.

Diggory paused before the exit. "Draco, would you mind going on? I'd like to talk with Harry alone for a minute." But he wasn't looking at Draco. His eyes were locked on his ex-lover.

"I think I _would_ mi–" he began, voice layered with hostility.

"No, that's fine," Harry interrupted. "Go on, get a cab. I won't be long." He gave Draco a look that was supposed to reassuring. Diggory gave him a look that was most definitely _not_ supposed to be reassuring.

But they walked off before he could protest further. Draco waited a minute in the hallway before creeping after them. He could hear their voices coming out of the bathroom.

"...told you, Cedric. We're fine. He just gets jealous."

"If he really cared, he wouldn't act like an ass just because an old boyfriend showed up."

Draco stiffened where he stood behind a potted plant.

"Well, we can't all be perfect, can we?" Harry sounded bitter.

A pause. "Harry, are you still killing yourself over that?"

Another pause, longer.

"God, Harry. I told you it wasn't your fault."

"You're too nice. I never did deserve you, did I?" He laughed sadly.

"Harry –"

"No, I want to leave that alone. You wanted to know about Draco. I love him. He loves me. That was his idiotic way of showing his love."

Draco grinned, pleased with himself.

"Are you sure, Harry? I bet he goes to galleries glaring at pieces you modeled for and being rude to the artist. I bet he doesn't get on with your friends."

He flinched at the accuracy of Diggory's accusations.

"He only hates the galleries because he thinks there'll be some pervert there. I'm sure there is, too. But he endures it. The same with my friends. They have clashing personalities."

"He has to 'endure' your friends? Wouldn't you rather someone who'd get along with them? And understand your work?"

"What are you getting at?"

"I'm getting at the fact that I think he's just a spoiled rich boy who couldn't keep a relationship together anyway."

"Shut-up." Harry's tone was suddenly rather dangerous. "You don't know him."

A long pause. Draco chaffed to simply barge in.

Diggory sighed. "You're right. I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. It's just..."

"It's just what?"

Another spell of silence. Draco suddenly had a sinking, poisonous feeling in his gut.

"Quit it, Cedric." Harry didn't sound as assured as he should have.

"Harry, it was a mistake letting you go. I never should have..." The sentence hung in the air.

"I said stop." Harry's voice was uncertain.

"I mean it. Come back to England with me. _Please_."

"I just..." Harry trailed off. The bathroom door suddenly squealed and swung open. Harry bolted out, making a beeline for the exit. The door shut on Diggory's distressed face. Draco darted after Harry, grabbing his wrist right outside the entrance to the little club.

"Draco? I thought you were getting a cab." Although he tried to hide it, Harry looked miserable. His mouth was red and bruised.

Draco ignored the query. "So, how does England sound?"

For a moment he looked shocked, but his features quickly turned darkly furious. "You were listening?" He didn't wait for an answer. Harry jerked his hand away and turned his back, waving down a cab. He waited for Draco to clamber in and then gave the driver their address. Silent, Harry sat as far as possible from him.

-

His cell rang. Draco ignored it. He sat in his home office, feet on his desk, feeling crappy as hell. The cell rang insistently, then died. Draco fiddled with the green felt thing on the desktop before getting up. He picked up his cellphone and turned on the voice messages. His father's irritated tones rang out.

"_Draco, you contemptible excuse of a son! Someday you're going to have to stop being so godammed irresponsible. **And** someday, as incredible as it sounds, you're going to have to get over that –"_

He turned the phone off. He flung it away in disgust. It made a nasty sound as it hit the hardwood floor.

After getting home from the jazz club that evening, he and Harry had a huge blow-up. They slept separately that night. And for several nights afterward. Somehow, things fell apart. They suddenly couldn't stand the sight of each other. Draco couldn't stop flinging the thing about Diggory into Harry's face several times. He turned defensive and brought up stupid things like those videos and other mistakes he'd made. And then, all of a sudden, Harry left. No explanation, nothing. He wouldn't answer his cell and his friends wouldn't talk to Draco.

So he gave up. He moved out, told his father he'd be serious about the business now. It was all a lie. He never realized how much his life had come to revolve around Harry.

Draco slumped back into his office chair, spinning around wretchedly. He glanced at his desk phone.

All of a sudden, he felt extremely pissed off. Fury rose in his throat like bile as the image of Harry and Diggory outside the airport gate reappeared in his mind's eye. That flight had been the one scheduled for England, the one Draco was supposed to take. He snatched up the desk phone, violently punching in Harry's cell number and ignoring that fact that if he had taken that flight, his phone would be off now.

"Hello?" Harry's voice shot like a javelin over the line, unnerving Draco. He hadn't heard that voice in over two weeks. He seemed to have forgotten how to speak.

"Who is this?" Right. Harry didn't know his new number, so of course he hadn't ignored it.

Draco steeled himself, planning on wielding his dark wrath scathingly. But, of course, what happened instead was –

"We need to talk."

-

"You didn't go to England," Draco shot accusingly by way of greeting.

Sullenly, Harry looked at him. He was sitting on a bench in Central Park. Several joggers whizzed by, trailing cold fog in the bitter fall air.

"I saw you at the airport, with Diggory," he added sneeringly.

"What, you're stalking me?" Harry asked coolly.

"My father offered to send me on a business trip. That was my flight." The other's indifference was needling him.

"You didn't go to England," Harry repeated, mockingly matching Draco's tone and American accent.

He gritted his teeth angrily. "No, I didn't."

A pause wedged between them. "What do you want to talk about?" As if he really didn't know.

"Are you with Diggory?"

"No," Harry snapped.

"Where've you been staying?"

"With Ginny Weasley," he growled. "She sneaked me into her dorm."

"Are you bi?"

"What the hell!" Harry got up, making to run off.

"No," Draco said firmly, making a decision. Diggory might have let him get spooked, but he sure as hell wasn't going to make the same mistake. Draco pulled Harry back, a tight hand on his arm. He sat on the bench and made him do the same.

"Why did you leave?"

"You're an ass," Harry answered cruelly.

"I am indeed," Draco amended. "But I've always been an ass. So why leave now?"

Harry looked sullen again. God, he wanted to just leave this all behind, and take him home. The real home, not that goddammed sterile apartment. He wanted screw him over and be able to wake up beside him. He wanted to glare moodily at the artists he posed for. But things don't work out just because you want them to.

"Fuck you," Harry snarled. He made to get up again. Draco pushed him back down.

"No, Harry. We're going to talk this out. I don't want this to end. Not like this." He let himself convey the desperateness he felt in his stomach with his voice.

Harry looked at him, uncertainty leaking a bit into his eyes. Good. He was getting to him.

"I don't know about you," Draco continued, "but I've never had a relationship like what we had. I don't want to give it up like I would with some random one-nighter. That would just equate what we had with something like that, and I can't accept that."

"You were the one going on about Cedric, even when I kept telling you I had no intention of leaving then." But his tone was no longer as acidic.

"Yeah, and I'm sorry," Draco said, "but I can't stop being jealous. Although I will try to contain it."

Harry snorted cynically, "Maybe we're just 'not working' either."

He felt a tinge of fear dripping down his spine. "What the hell does that mean? We're not freaking machines, Harry. We have fights, we fool around, and we live together. We get ticked at each and we make each other happy. What does 'working' have to do with it?"

"Well, of course you wouldn't understand the concept of work," he chuckled.

Draco allowed himself a grin. The momentary amusement passed, though, and Harry brooded for a moment.

He suddenly glanced at Draco. He looked unsure of himself and unbalanced. Draco wanted to catch him, and keep catching him for eternity.

"The thing with Cedric and me," he said hesitatingly, "it ended because... Well, he started talking about how having a kid might be nice, and things like that. I got really scared. The fact that he could love me enough to think about those sort of things and add me to the picture – it was just too much. I think I didn't know how to react to love. The Dursleys weren't exactly the hugs and kisses type, so the whole idea frightened me. And then, well."

Harry paused. "I cheated on him. With this prick of an artist who'd wanted me to pose for him for a while."

Draco couldn't restrain himself from saying, "Harry, I don't think modeling for another artist counts as cheating."

He punched him. "I fucked him, stupid." He looked both amused and serious. "So I just... Draco, I felt guilty as hell that night when you met Cedric. And all those little comments you made – I know you're sorry for them, but I started thinking they were true."

Draco hesitated and then put an arm around him. "God Harry, I know you didn't cheat on me."

"Well," he looked at him nervously, "he did kiss me."

"I gathered that," Draco answered tersely. "But that was Diggory's fault."

"He got carried away," Harry said. "He wanted me to come back. Even after what I did."

"He knew you were just afraid," he attributed the man grudgingly.

Harry didn't look convinced. "Well. Anyway. I left you because, I just... It all came flooding back and I panicked. I'm sorry. Draco, I don't want it to end either. I love you."

"I love you, too," he answered.

They sat for a while, knowing it wasn't over, that there were still many patches to be made and many holes to fill. This wasn't enough, but it was a start. Draco realized they couldn't let this happen again. They couldn't keep themselves locked and hidden. They had to remain bare to each other, even if the world could only see the surface. That being decided, the episode would most likely repeat itself in another fashion in the future. But that was okay. They could pull through it.

"Where did you move?" Harry asked, breathing in the icy air.

"This very swanky apartment I hate." Draco watched him, the green eyes he loved drinking in the world. "Let's go get your stuff."

"All right."

-

¹ – _Jokanaan and Salomé_ (Salomé and Saint John) and _Holofernes and Judith_ (Judith and Holofernes) are both famous stories about women flaunting their sexual purity and cutting off the heads of men (Saint John and Holofernes). Salomé because John wouldn't sleep with her and Judith because Holofernes tried to rape her (?). Cedric was poking fun at the idea and sort-of uplifting his love for Harry as above petty notions like that.

-

**A/N: **This was fun to write, as it's my first serious and long DH one-shot and I've always been a hardcore DH shipper. And I had the sudden idea of 'What if there was a muse!Harry?' :laugh:


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